Chapter Summary: The Court Sorcerer arrives at the best possible solution he can think of to the puzzle.
Recap of Named Original Characters:
- Bedivere: A knight of Camelot just recently promoted from squire.
- Theo: Gray-haired applicant who helps Merlin throughout the tests. Has taken the Apprentice Exam many times
- Elise: Another applicant who's friendly to Merlin. The baker's daughter in Merlin's world.
- Clar: Princess of Mercia. An applicant who's not at all friendly towards Merlin.
- Cava: An applicant who has shown expertise in fire and metal magic. Helped in creating the pot for the second test.
- Fi: A friend of Cava who offered Cava the lightest dose in the first exam.
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Chapter XIX: Full of Tough Choices
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Mage Gaius surrounds Ris' resting area with cloths, ensuring none could glimpse upon the events inside. Absentmindedly, Balinor pelts out another anti-eavesdropping spell to ensure none of the other patients outside could hear their conversation.
Isolde drops beside Ris' cot, immediately taking his hand into both of hers. Ris squeezes her hands in assurance, offering a wan smile.
"Ris," Ygraine begins, dropping titles. "Tell us what happened."
The said knight breathes out. His cheeks and lips color a pale palette but no outward injury shows upon initial glance.
"I was searching for the injured after you chased Wracu. Or what seemed to be Wracu." Ris glances at Balinor for confirmation.
The Court Sorcerer tunes in on the conversation, letting the swirling thoughts in his head calm. He gives a swift nod and answers, "It was an illusion."
"And I encountered the real one," Ris says somberly. "He was disguised as a boy of sixteen summers. Brown hair —"
"Green eyes," Arthur finishes.
Astonishment takes over Ris' expression. "I—I don't know the color of the eyes. He was already in the midst of a spell."
Isolde decides to answer Ris' unasked question. "The applicant he attacked met the disguise earlier on. Told us what it looked like."
Ris sighs, carding through his flaxen-colored hair with the hand not attached to the Head Knight. "Then, I suppose I have nothing more useful to tell you. Shortly after I discovered him, he placed a petrifying spell on me, and knocked me unconscious. I believe it was Bedivere who found me."
All the attention turns to the short brown-haired knight called Bedivere. His brown eyes are incredulously wide. "The — The böggel-mann was disguised as — ?" He swallows audibly. "I — I was fighting through the crowd when a b-boy called out to me. Sir Tristan was already on the ground, unconscious, and the boy told me he was knocked over by the running people."
Isolde's eyes narrow. "The boy?"
"Brown hair, green eyes," Bedivere informs them, a tad pale.
Ris lurches forward. Isolde immediately supports him when he threatens to fall off the cot. "He called out to you? How?"
"Er - He was waving and yelling 'Sir Knight, Sir Knight'." Bedivere rubs the back of his neck. "I had no idea that — He was — very convincing."
Almost immediately, a horrifying epiphany dawns on every person listening in. They take in Bedivere's clothing — the simply darned cream tunic, the plain brown trousers, and worn boots. No sword or any kind weapon is even strapped around him. Nothing on him indicates that he's a knight of Camelot. Ris is the third-in-command of Camelot's knights; he is prominent enough to be recognized on sight.
However, Bedivere was a squire knighted just a few weeks prior.
How did Wracu know of him and of his status?
There are countless answers to the question, most of them harmless in implication. But there is one answer that trickles dread over their spines.
A spy in the citadel.
Balinor turns on his heel, breaking the tense silence with the movement of his clothes. He heads for the gap in the enclosed space. "I need to clear my head. Send for me when the others have returned."
He's gone from sight before any of the others can open their mouths to stop him.
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"No exception for your favorite apprentice?" A blank face even if the tone holds hints of a jest.
"You're my only apprentice."
"Exactly. I'm the only one capable of putting up with your dour demeanor." A smirk. "I should be exempted from all this nonsense as a reward."
"Have you forgotten that I chose you and not the other way around?"
"I bet you're regretting that choice now, aren't you?" A teasing lilt and, finally, a tinge of laughter.
" . . . No. In fact, I think it was my best decision yet." A flustered silence. He hides a smile behind a hand. He doesn't hide it well enough.
A scowl, one that's not unfamiliar on her face. "I'll turn your hair vomit green this time, see if I won't, old man."
"So you were here."
A chalice blocks Balinor's vision, startling him slightly. He ceases leaning onto the parapet ledge, straightens up, and takes the goblet from Arthur's hands.
Arthur steps to stand beside him, nursing his own cup. His cerulean eyes follow Balinor's gaze. The setting sun bathes the Darkling Woods with soft enticing light as it slowly disappears behind the dense foliage. In the city below, the bustle starts anew, the people gradually opening up their homes as the guards assure them of their safety.
Balinor sips the dark liquid from the goblet. And almost spits it back out. Dignity forces him to swallow the foul concoction.
Laughter gleams in the prince's eyes as he sees the Court Sorcerer's sour expression. "It would've been wine but Gaius insists you need a potion for possible magical exhaustion." He tilts his own cup to show bright pink liquid. "I got one of his potions as well for my leg so we'll be weathering through this together."
With that, he gulps down two swallows from his goblet. Nothing in his countenance indicates his distaste for the potion. Balinor can't help but admire that.
"What are you thinking?" The prince asks, side-eyeing Balinor, tone abruptly sober.
Balinor stills, contemplating the question.
The Court Sorcerer is thinking of a shadow four years past, a ghost still haunting the halls of his mind, a thorn still piercing the organ in his chest. He's thinking of the answer to a question he didn't even know needed an answer.
The question of why he saw her during his demonstration of the third test.
Rage, bewilderment, grief — they swirl inside him like the winds of a storm, causing his pulse to drum quickly. He has gone over his memories of her, searching for an offhand statement or an implied circumstance that may offer him the explanation he seeks. He recalls nothing of the sort.
Perhaps the worst of it all is the hope stirring adamantly in his chest, taking his breath away.
Hope is possibly the most horrible thing the whole endeavor has fed him.
"Theatrics," Balinor replies instead, unwilling to reveal to Arthur the impossible speculations on his mind. Until he knows more, he'll not subject the prince himself to it.
Arthur lifts a delicate brow. "Theatrics?"
"Wracu is not prone to such," Balinor says, twirling the goblet in his hand. The liquid inside sloshes, lines of bright red bubbling to the surface and breaking its dark color. "He pulls the strings from the shadows, hiding his actions from sight."
A thoughtful look passes over Arthur's face. "Yet, this time, he was practically ostentatious."
The Court Sorcerer nods, eyes on the ever changing hue inside his chalice. "I found it suspect. If he acted so unsubtly . . . Then, there must be more to what we saw in the training grounds, there must be a hidden motive to his actions, a hidden reason as to why he would attempt to dispose of the boy. Perhaps this Merlin is one of his men, and he wanted to cast suspicion off of the boy by trying to make us think he wanted to kill him? Or maybe, all of it is a distraction to hide the real spy that'll infiltrate the castle?"
"And now?" The prince prods, a hint of impatience lining his brow as he sets his half-filled cup atop the stone ledge.
"Now." Balinor takes a tentative sip of the now rose-red liquid. Saccharine cherries burst upon his tongue, chasing away the awful taste of crushed herbs and animal oils. "I'm beginning to think that Wracu wants us to think that way."
Arthur catches on quickly. "You think his motive is actually the obvious one: that he wanted to kill that applicant to prevent him from being an apprentice of Camelot's court."
— Clear skies, not a cloud on the bright blue sky. A soft ground, free of foliage, in the middle of the forest —
— A body clothed in the robes he had sewn himself sprawled on the ground, azure eyes unblinking and dull —
—Arthur, kneeling beside her, hands hovering, shaking, his bow carelessly thrown aside —
—Her skin is far too cold when he carried her, the pyre too hot as Jayden ignites the wood, the smoke stings his eyes —
The Court Sorcerer opens the eyes he didn't realize he closed. He gulps down the remains of the potion, the sweet taste driving away the bitter images. He sets the goblet beside Arthur's. "It's as likely as any other possibility."
Arthur tilts his head. "And what prompted this thinking that this Merlin's blameless? It's not like he helped his case earlier. All those shifty eyes and fidgeting . . ."
Balinor can't help but let out an amused scoff. "I suppose, if nothing else, we can be certain that he's a terrible liar."
"Or very good at pretending to be one." Arthur counters calmly.
The Court Sorcerer cannot deny that. There's still plenty of unanswered questions regarding that unusual applicant, not only because Wracu targeted him but also because of the abilities he had shown throughout the tests. Balinor had planned to find out more over time, knowing Jayden would not hesitate to take the boy as an apprentice.
But circumstances have changed, and he no longer has that luxury.
He needs to decide here and now, before the choosing ceremony, what path to take with the little information they have. The wrong choice may lead to them falling right into Wracu's plans, and there is nothing Balinor loathes more.
"And you?" The Court Sorcerer nudges the still half-filled chalice towards the prince. The prince picks it up with the smallest of sighs. "What are your thoughts on all of this?"
Arthur taps the metal with a thumb, eyes looking out in the distance. "From the start, even during his registration, this Merlin had stood out. He had distinguished himself from the rest of the applicants, all the while looking extremely baffled. If it's all an act, it's a rather unnecessarily convoluted one. Furthermore, I doubt any spy of Wracu would call that much attention to themselves." The prince ventures another sip from the bright pink concoction. "He has his secrets, as we all do. Considering my mother didn't outright demand the return of the sigil, I'm inclined to believe he truly got it from a trustworthy source. For now, I believe the secrets he keeps do little harm to Camelot."
"So you're willing to allow him into the castle then? With all that's happened?"
After all the prince has said, Balinor is quite astonished to hear him say a resolute, "No."
"No?"
A hint of a frown pinches Arthur's brows. "No matter how blameless he may be with regards to Wracu's schemes, he was still involved. He interests me, true, and I do desire to use him to lure Wracu into a trap. But he brings ill tidings, and I'm not willing to invite that sort of omen into our home." He runs a hand through his hair, and sighs. "He's a dangerous man, Balinor, no matter his intentions. And . . . Morgana."
Immediately, the Court Sorcerer derives the prince's implications because he has been of the same mind for a while now.
"It's too early to tell but . . . She had been acting strange throughout the Exam, have you noticed? Especially when interacting with this Merlin." Arthur points out before taking the last dregs from his cup. "Perhaps I just do not know her as well anymore. But it can also be that—"
"She Saw something," Balinor finishes grimly. "Something involving that boy."
Arthur nods. "And you know Morgana's visions don't usually feature happy events."
Balinor stares at Arthur, observing his clenched jaw and the white-knuckled grip he has upon the goblet. The Court Sorcerer knows the prince well enough to suspect that there may be something else, something more that he's leaving usaid. Balinor, having some hidden thoughts of his own, prods no further.
Silence reigns over them. The sun gradually dips further below the array of trees, painting the horizon warm brushes of orange, red and pink. Balinor ponders over everything that happened that day — the epiphanies, the inquiries, the people's behavior, and his own. He contemplates courses of actions and dismisses most of them. He gathers whatever information he gained to form a puzzle and a solution at the same time.
In an instant, Balinor knows what he must do.
The most difficult part would be convincing the queen regarding the soundness of it.
In the next instant, his eyes catch onto men and women in horseback weaving between the trees of the forest. The knights and his men are heading back, a couple of them entering through the western gate. Judging by the lack of urgency in their trots, they have little to report.
Even though he half-expected it, a swell of disappointment and frustration still settles at the base of Balinor's stomach. If Arthur's stone-like expression is any indication, then the prince must be feeling the same. The prince and the Court Sorcerer trade glances, confirming what the other has already deduced.
Balinor transports the goblets back to the kitchens with a wave of his hand. As one, he and Arthur turn to the exit of the parapets.
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Night falls upon Camelot, stars shyly beginning to wink at the people of the land. Torches line their surroundings, their light and warmth making the darkness and cold a bit more bearable.
Half of the applicants of the Sorcerer's Exam shift restlessly in their places. Some have abandoned propriety and slumped down flat on the ground, snoring and sleeping their exhaustion away. A handful of the injured ones bemoan their fates, telling all who would listen the cause of their wounds. A few are engaged in deep murmured discussions. All around them, the sorcerers and sorceresses of court wander around, answering questions and keeping them calm.
Those who forfeited their applications have been allowed to get out of the semi-containment the court has placed them in. They went to their homes or to their respective inns, dismayed at the results of their tests but more than eager to finish the day. Meanwhile, those who are still hoping to be chosen stayed and waited. And waited and waited, hoping that the choosing ceremony be done sooner rather than later.
The mages of court have long since cleaned up their tools and tent. They invite their apprentices with them to get them settled as new residents of the castle. Gilli has to bid them farewell.
"I'll come back after I've sworn in and gotten my talisman, I promise!" The young mage vows before dashing away to follow the striding Mage Gaius.
Merlin, who has been staring despondently at Mage Gaius, shoots up at the words. "Sworn in? Like a knight?"
Mordred, used to Merlin's questions, has a ready answer. "Certainly. After getting chosen, the apprentice has to sign a contract with their mentor to ensure both know what the apprenticeship entails."
Lancelot, who's still standing as stiff as a statue beside Merlin, frowns. "How have you joined the Exam without knowing that part?"
"Sheltered village, little news," Merlin repeats his excuse tiredly and flippantly. "And won't you at least sit down, Sir Lancelot?" Merlin's tired of the knight looming over him. And he's sure Sir Lancelot hasn't even had a moment's rest the whole day.
"No," Sir Lancelot says.
Merlin rolls his eyes this time. Sir Lancelot reaches down, and cuffs him painfully at the back of his neck like Arthur used to do.
"Ow!"
"Sir Lancelot!" Morgana chides. "Please refrain from maiming Merlin."
The knight's dark eyes linger on Merlin's nape before he turns to Morgana. "He should know how to respect people above his station."
"I do respect you, sire," Merlin replies, keeping his tone mild and respectful. Then, because he can't restrain himself with regards to stubborn prats, he adds, "But not when you're being an unreasonable grump." He offers the knight a wide insolent grin.
Sir Lancelot scowls, gloved hands reaching down for the warlock once more. Merlin scrambles away to avoid his grip. Mordred watches the interaction with detached interest while Morgana lets out a chuckle.
Fortunately, before Sir Lancelot's fingers could enclose the warlock, a commanding, "Applicants," resound in the area.
Everyone pauses in their actions. Some kind-hearted ones prod the sleeping applicants awake. Merlin, along with several others, shoot up to their feet.
Their heads all turn to Queen Ygraine, the one who has spoken. Striding behind her are the missing magic-users of court, a handful of whom are trying to hide their exhausted states but also clearly failing. Joining them are Prince Arthur and the Court Sorcerer, standing before them hours after they chased after the böggel-mann. Merlin observes their faces, hoping to know what they plan to do with him after all that fuss. Unfortunately, he garners no clues from their stone-cut facades.
Queen Ygraine gazes at the gathered possible apprentices with keen eyes. Merlin notices that her gaze seems to skip over him, the action sweeping him with trepidation. With a firm commanding voice, she begins, "The Court of Camelot apologizes for the disruption in The Apprentice Exam, and the danger you were placed in today. Rest assured that you are in no danger now."
"Guess they didn't catch the böggel-mann after all," Merlin hears someone close to him whisper.
"Why do you think so?"
"They would have proudly announced it otherwise, don't you think?"
Queen Ygraine speaks over the mutterings. "Furthermore, as recompense for today's events, the court will pay for your stay tonight in respectable and high-class inns and for hearty dinners." The queen's remark sets off a wave of pleased sighs and approving noises. "As for what happens now . . ."
Queen Ygraine gestures at the Court Sorcerer, who has been quietly standing behind her, to come forward. Balinor does so, hands behind his back and countenance only belying nonchalance.
"There are still three of you who have yet to take the third test." The applicants glance around, attempting to determine the three. "To be fair to those who came before, we will still have you to take it to proceed. If you prefer not to forfeit, we will redraw the mandrake circle and re-enchant it."
Relief loosens Merlin's chest when Balinor mentions nothing about him retaking the test. Merlin loathes to admit it but he rather not take the test again. Wracu's sabotage was a tiny blessing in disguise because Merlin needn't worry about what the next illusions would reveal about him. That the warlock hasn't been disqualified outright is also quite a comfort.
The Court Sorcerer looks expectantly at the group. When none but soft murmurings greets him, he nods resolutely and heads to the training grounds once more. They all follow him like little ducklings, steps sluggish and uncertain.
Sir Lancelot breaks away from the group, duty seemingly done, but not before sending Merlin a glare of 'I'm closely watching you'. The knight's departure relieves and saddens the warlock at the same time.
They all enter the training grounds with a lot less enthusiasm than before. Lit torches circle the grounds' barrier, casting a rather somber ambiance upon the whole area. Lady Jayden wiggles her fingers; the fires flare brighter than the morning sun dispelling the heavy air. Merlin notes that more than a handful of people are now sitting in the audience stands. He can't make out their expressions but judging by the way they lean forward in their seats, they're more excited about the continuation of the Exam than the applicants themselves. The number of audience is certainly drastically lesser than before but Merlin's surprised some have returned at all considering the dire events earlier.
Two sorceresses hastily gather the two jugs left in the corner, uncork them, and let the black ichor drip onto the ground. The rest of the court waves away the debris covering the soil to make a clear space. Lord Dalion, with both hands and gold eyes, carefully pieces together the broken hourglass. The runes are sketched quickly but tidily, and in no more than a few minutes, Balinor has cast the illusion spell upon it.
Nerves gnaw the fringes of Merlin's mind as names are once again shouted for the third test. He glances at the Court Sorcerer and Prince Arthur, whose gazes are uncannily focused in the mandrake circle. Merlin's stare switches to the queen, who's talking quietly with Lord Tristan. Both look as if they've eaten something sour. Dread pools in the warlock's stomach, and he tears his gaze away.
In seemingly no time at all, the three applicants finish their respective tests. The last one, a short ginger-haired boy, walks back to the cluster of applicants with a jaw-breaking yawn. He seems more concerned about finding a bed than the results of the test he just took.
With a muttered spell from Lord Mavin, the soil prances, burying and dissipating the inked runes with little fuss.
Almost immediately, Merlin feels and sees all the remaining applicants straighten, the sleepiness and tiredness gone from their demeanor. With bright alert eyes, they turn their gazes to their hopefully would-be mentors. The taste of excitement and a wave of quick murmurs spill into the air, lifting the pall of dreariness the night has covered them in. Their giddiness is infectious. Despite his own woes, Merlin can't help but feel the same elated buzz coursing through him.
"Goddess above, finally . . ."
"Please choose me, choose me, choose me."
"I think I did well in the three tests. I'm definitely going to be picked."
"Your hair was purple."
"W-Well, it's not purple now!"
"Who are you hoping for?" Elise asks of Theo.
The gray-haired man sighs so deeply that Merlin worries that his lungs might collapse. "I'm really just hoping to get chosen by anyone this time."
Prince Arthur steps forward, hands behind his back in a pose similar to one the Court Sorcerer usually adopts. The applicants' conversations draw into an abrupt hush at the movement.
"Applicants, the choosing ceremony shall now commence," Prince Arthur addresses the participants for the first time in the Exam. He gestures at the empty space in the middle of the grounds.
The applicants, getting the hint, all shuffle towards the referred space. Merlin's heart pounds; it's the first time he has participated in some sort of courtly competition but he has to have done well, right? He passed the first and second test, at the very least, unlike some of the others.
When all has settled and quieted, Prince Arthur resumes. "Our sorcerers and sorceresses will now be choosing their apprentices, people who they will be mentoring for three years."
Merlin's slightly astonished at the duration. Three years is a long time to teach someone . . .
"In this Sorcerer's Exam, each of them can choose at most two apprentices. Or they may choose none." The prince's gaze sweeps over them swiftly. Like his mother, however, his eyes seem to skip over Merlin. "If you gave it your all, may you get through the ceremony without regrets."
The young sorcerers and sorceresses steel themselves, preparing for the results of their hard work. They trade glances; some derisive, some reassuring, most uncertain. Merlin tunes them all out, staring at Prince Arthur.
Bemusedly, Merlin recognizes none of the mannerisms the prince adopts as he's making his speech. His voice is of a softer timbre than Arthur's, still commanding but less firm. His hands are hidden behind his back instead of folded on his front. His expression also barely changes all throughout . . . Or perhaps Merlin's just not really used to his tics to detect such. Usually with Arthur, the moue of his mouth changes when he knows he's getting to the bad news or the corner of the king's left eyebrow twitches when he sees someone talking amidst his speech. The dissonance between Prince Arthur's expressionless countenance and King Arthur's expressive ones discombobulates Merlin once more.
Prince Arthur speaks, shaking Merlin out of his musings. "The court shall go by order of rank. The honor of the first choices: Camelot's Court Sorcerer, Lord Balinor of the Thrakon Isles."
Balinor breaks from their group, coming forward to stand beside Arthur.
"I doubt he'll choose an apprentice this year too," Merlin hears a noblewoman whisper to the nobleman beside her. "Well . . . perhaps, had the Exam proceeded smoothly . . ." She trails off.
"I don't think anyone's hoping for Lord Balinor to choose. I'm hoping Lady Jayden may choose me," the nobleman replies.
Merlin side-eyes them both, thinking their words over. Merlin knows Balinor has only had one apprentice in the fifteen years since the Apprentice Exam began. He knows not what made that apprentice distinguish herself during her own Exam but Merlin himself has seen some pretty awe-inspiring magic performed that day — Cava's superior handling of fire magic, Theo's impressive array of unique spells, Mordred's ability to control a plethora of things at once, and plenty of others who belted out enchantments Merlin didn't even know could exist. Clar, who must be barely sixteen summers, even has knowledge of a spell Merlin has only learned when he was eighteen winters.
Given that, the warlock is not quite as surprised as the others when the Court Sorcerer opens his mouth and says a name.
"Morgana Le Fay," Balinor intones, beckoning her.
All heads whip to the aforementioned lady as gasps ripple through the crowd. Even a flash of astonishment flits by Prince Arthur's face. Morgana . . . does not look the tiniest bit shocked as she strides towards the Court Sorcerer's outstretched hand.
"Goodness . . ." Cava breathes out.
A smile ghosts Morgana's lips, jade eyes glittering with warmth as she stops before the Court Sorcerer. Even in this realm, Morgana has powerful magic that she can command with no difficulty at all. Merlin can see why she would be Balinor's choice. Although, she mostly only displayed spells similar to my own.
The Court Sorcerer lowers his head — low enough to be considered a shallow bow. With a firm low tone, he asks, "Will you do me the honor of becoming my apprentice?"
"Lord Balinor, I will be more than happy to be your apprentice," Morgana Le Fay replies brightly, eyes now adopting a teary quality even as her voice remains steady.
Balinor lifts his head and gives Morgana the briefest and smallest of smiles. If Merlin had not been looking closely, he might have missed it. Morgana pads to Balinor's side, pride settling in the set of her shoulders.
Prince Arthur nods in acknowledgement of the events. His mouth opens, eyes already darting to Lady Jayden.
However, Balinor speaks again before the prince could do so. "Mordred of the Forest of Engred."
The said druid's mouth drops open, unbridled shock stiffening his whole body. Merlin glances at Mordred, who's standing just to his left, with wide eyes himself. Mordred turns to him with the same exact look, looking younger than his age with the unguardedness of it. While the druid has been hoping to be the Court Sorcerer's apprentice, given the history, he probably isn't expecting this.
Because of the memorable third test, everyone knows where to look for the owner of the name. Modred receives plenty of stunned stares, amazed looks, and more than one envious glare.
"T-Two apprentices!?" Someone cries out.
"In the same year!"
Another wave of gasps paves through the applicants. Even those of court appear nonplussed. Merlin gets over his own shock fairly quickly. He elbows Mordred frantically, knocking the druid out of his stupor.
"Go on!" Merlin urges him, unable to curb his growing smile. While he still has his reservations regarding Mordred, Merlin feels inordinately pleased for him. It's not everyday he sees someone's impossible dream fulfilled in front of them.
Mordred staggers towards the Court Sorcerer, azure eyes wide and still unbelieving. In Merlin's chest, something twists painfully.
Watching as Mordred comes to stand in front of his not-father as the second apprentice, Merlin realizes that a part of him had hoped —
He is only going to be in this other realm for only a short while. While he has been saddened to recognize his friends and not be recognized in return, he wishes to have the opportunity to spend more time with the man that's dead in his own realm. A part of him longs to prove something to this counterpart that he has (apparently) proven the man he spent barely two days with in his own world. ("I've seen enough in you to know you will make me proud."). It is a foolish childish hope, he supposes.
He inwardly shakes his head; it matters not. The Court Sorcerer has already chosen his two apprentices.
Balinor does the same shallow bow, and asks the same question of Mordred. "Will you do me the honor of becoming my apprentice?"
The druid stares at the Court Sorcerer, gobsmacked for moments. Then, he composes himself and hastily replies, "I - I shall do my best as your apprentice, my lord."
Balinor lifts his head, and nods at him. Mordred walks to stand beside his now fellow apprentice. Morgana offers him a bright smile. It seems the facts are finally beginning to sink in for Mordred because a giant unrestrained grin starts to climb his face.
Lady Jayden takes a step forward, clearly preparing to take her turn. Prince Arthur opens his mouth once more to declare her turn.
But to the absolute flabbergast of everyone around, Balinor utters another name.
"Merlin of Ealdor."
Silence follows his words.
"What." Merlin blinks rapidly, staring at the Court Sorcerer as if he has grown a dragon head in the past few minutes. "What?"
Balinor delicately raises a bushy brow, giving him a look one would give a stubborn child. He motions for the warlock to come closer.
"I think . . ." Theo starts, staring at the warlock with a dumbfounded expression. "Lord Balinor wants you to go over there, Merlin."
"What for?" Merlin asks, voice pitching high in confusion.
"As the, uh, third apprentice . . . ?" Elise's tone lilts in an undeniable question, more of asking rather than answering.
The statement breaks the shield of bewilderment that has wrapped around the training grounds.
Prince Arthur inhales sharply, fiery gaze shifting to the Court Sorcerer. Balinor refuses to meet his eyes, amber gaze focused solely on Merlin. The warlock himself stares back at the Court Sorcerer, alarmed and confused.
Deafening noise spills from everyone, applicants and audience alike, demanding explanations.
"Third apprentice!?"
"Wha—Why?"
"I was quite sure I heard there can only be two . . ."
"And he was chosen even after —"
"Silence," Queen Ygraine's voice permeates the air sharply. Almost immediately, every other voice falls to a tensed hush. The queen's blue eyes flick to her Court Sorcerer before she faces the applicants once more. "Given his lack of apprentices in the past years, for this year, I have permitted Lord Balinor to choose three apprentices instead of only two. We have not informed you sooner for we hoped it would be a pleasant surprise." Queen Ygraine's smile, when she turns it to Merlin, is filled with the pointed and poisoned-dipped knives.
Being a king's servant for years, Merlin identifies a hidden threat when he sees one.
Merlin suppresses a shudder, knowing what the queen wants him to do. However, he didn't put all that effort just to give up when he's so close to fulfilling part of his plan. He's not very good at following orders anyway, unspoken or otherwise.
He plasters on a 'clueless farm boy unknowing of whatever courtly threats anyone is making on his person' look, and unsticks his boots from the ground. He forces himself to tread the path towards Balinor. Subdued murmurings greet him from every side, and piercing gazes stab him deeper with every step.
Merlin only raises his head when halts before the Court Sorcerer. Balinor's face paints an intimidatingly placid portrait, no tic or twitch belying his thoughts. He bows just as before, and asks the same question to Merlin, "Will you do me the honor of becoming my apprentice?"
Despite the confusion still swirling in his mind and the headache-inducing glares he's currently receiving, Merlin can't quite prevent his lips from curling upwards. An inexplicable ball of warmth swells in his chest as he replies, "The honor is all mine, Lord Balinor."
The Court Sorcerer blinks back at Merlin. Then, he gives the warlock a curt nod. Balinor motions to his three new apprentices. Getting the hint, the three of them follow him as he leads them into a corner of the grounds, far from the still stunned crowd. Morgana gives Merlin a sunny smile as they walk. Mordred, a cheerful visage dripping through his attempts to adopt an unaffected facade, grins freely, unbothered by the unusualness of the situation. Merlin can only offer them a grimace-disguising-as-a-smile of his own as he still feels Queen Ygraine's sharp glare upon his back.
Behind them, Prince Arthur finally calls out, "Lady Jayden Muirden, to choose her apprentices."
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An hour prior to the choosing ceremony, and a few minutes after the returning patrol have given their report of finding nothing, the Court Sorcerer approaches Queen Ygraine.
"If you'd be willing, Your Majesty, I would like to speak with you," Balinor asks.
The queen stares at him for one long moment before nodding. Queen Ygraine stalks off towards one of the empty guest rooms. Balinor is a step behind her. He meets Arthur's questioning gaze but refuses to provide the prince an answer.
The room they entered is bare and dusty, the large bed the only furniture in it. With a spell, Balinor ignites the torches on either side of the door, bathing them both in flickering firelight.
"Speak then," Queen Ygraine says after the door has been locked.
"I wish to take three apprentices this year," Balinor declares, getting straight to the point.
The queen's eyes narrow. "You told me that taking in more than two apprentices might interfere with one's duties to court."
"I vow that having three won't interfere with mine."
Queen Ygraine searches his face. She lifts a brow at whatever she has found. "Why three?"
Because there are three white levels, three who have shown impressive skills throughout the tests. Because Merlin has let on that Her magic looks — uh, feels similar to someone I know and Um, my magic might react poorly with Mordred too. Because Merlin may only be the diversion, the fake target to hide the real one. Because Balinor knows any one of the three of them can be in immediate danger the moment they take a step outside the citadel. Because Balinor knows that with the threat of a citadel spy in their midst, it's better to keep their potential enemies close and contained.
"There are three who have caught my eye this year," Balinor answers instead of the millions of other reasons on his mind. "I would like to mentor them myself and ensure their growth."
"Do you now." The queen tilts her head. "Very well. I shall allow it. As long as you don't choose the boy."
Both know who the queen is referring to. Balinor's fingers twitch. "He has not forfeited nor has he been disqualified."
A heavy frown mars Queen Ygraine's face. Her tone holds a hint of venom when she replies, "Do you truly think allowing that boy in the castle is the right idea?"
The Court Sorcerer takes on a pondering look. "I suppose disqualifying him may solve our problem."
Irritation flashes by the queen's features as she bites out, "But?"
"It may also solve Wracu's."
"I care not," Queen Ygraine replies coldly. "I have the mind to banish the boy from the kingdom for all this trouble."
Balinor expertly hides astonishment at the statement, looking at the queen with pinched brows. ". . . Because of the sigil?" The queen bristles almost imperceptibly, and Balinor knows he has guessed correctly. Carefully, he asks, "Will you tell me, Your Majesty, what the boy's sigil means to you?"
The queen presses her lips into a thin line. "It means nothing." Then, swiftly and firmly, she switches to another line of topic. "I would not call for his disqualification but you will not choose him." It's an order, not a request. "Although I doubt the others will choose him as well. I'll not have him as a potential successor."
The Court Sorcerer says nothing for a long while.
"Balinor," the queen warns. "I will not support your madness."
"He won't be a successor," Balinor promises.
Queen Ygraine stares him down, gauging the sincerity of the promise. She must've found something that made her doubt less because she gives an approving nod.
He won't be a successor to Balinor's position, that can be ensured. After the three years of apprenticeship is finished, Balinor merely needed to pick a successor that is not the boy or perhaps pick no one under him at all. But the Court Sorcerer made no remarks or vows regarding who he'll be choosing as apprentices.
Ygraine realizes this quite sourly as Balinor chooses his third apprentice, and she has to hide her shock from witnesses. She supposes it's partly her fault for not seeing through it.
Balinor has always been the most talented wordsmith in her court.
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"Theo of Drefir," Lady Jayden calls out.
At the name, Merlin can't help but glance back. The owner of the name sports a confouded look, disbelief written in every line of his face.
"Come. With your persistence, I think it's about time your hard work is acknowledged," Lady Jayden says, tone filled with fondness.
At that, Theo's expression blanked. Hesitation filters through his voice as he responds, "My lady, if this stems from pity—"
The sorceress shakes her head, and gently says, "I would not belittle your efforts by taking you in out of pity, my dear."
Merlin faces forward, pleased for Theo. The man, after showcasing his resourcefulness and useful skills, deserves no less.
When the four of them are far enough to barely make out Lady Jayden's words, Balinor stops and turns to the three apprentices. From the inner pockets of his coat, he pulls out rolled pieces of parchment. "Seeing as everything's been delayed, we'll be swearing you in immediately. Do the three of you know how to read and write?"
Merlin nods in sync with Morgana and Mordred.
"Good." He hands each of them three leafs of paper. "Read the contract carefully. Have you any questions, ask them immediately."
Covenant Between Mentor and Apprentice, reads the first line in large darkened letters. Merlin skims through the clauses and conditions. He's relieved to understand most of the words on it; there's little magical terms inscripted in the sentences.
Three years of lodging in the castle plus their own talisman and sets of robes to signify their status. Three meals a day and an allowance of seven silvers per week will be provided.
They're paying us seven silvers a week to learn from prodigious masters. No wonder a plethora of people want the position.
A day-off once per week. Mentor shall provide guidance, lessons and protection. Apprentice shall help the mentor with their duties. Apprentice shall follow Camelot's law and traditions during their stay. Apprentice should not purposely associate with known enemies of Camelot or share any of their learned knowledge to even allied kingdoms. There are more clarifications and specifications on this front, several paragraphs detailing what they're allowed to share, who they're allowed to share it with, and when they can claim the information as their own. Mentor can and will let go of apprentices found to be in violation of the terms stated, with the threat of banishment, imprisonment or even execution depending on the degree of the crime. The rest of the contract states further stipulations regarding what is expected of a court apprentice. The last sentence denotes that the contract will be bespelled with a spell unfamiliar to Merlin upon the signing of both parties.
The whole thing is a proper pact, and it sinks in to Merlin that this is really happening. He's about to become a proper sorcerer apprentice under Camelot's flag, and under Camelot's Court Sorcerer. Not only that —
The warlock's eyes flit to the person on his left; Mordred has seemingly finished reading his copy of the contract for he's only holding the parchments aloft. To the warlock's right, Morgana is still perusing the documents, lips moving wordlessly.
Not only is he apprenticing under his not-father, he's also going to be fellow apprentices with two of his greatest not-enemies.
I think only I could be in a situation like this, Merlin thinks, feeling a bit hysterical. If this is part of destiny's plans, then Merlin is certain that it isn't a very good plan.
"The spell for the contract-binding," the warlock starts, deciding to push the oncoming hysteria deep deep down until he can find himself alone to deal with it. "How does it work? Um, my lord."
Balinor answers promptly, "The undeóp dness, also known as the Shallow Contract, is the simplest contract enchantment. Once one of the signed parties breaks a clause, both parties will immediately know of it." He points at the documents on Merlin's hands. "A red line will appear upon the broken rules, and the party which broke it will be written."
How reliable. If that's the simplest contract spell, Merlin is interested in what a more complicated one does. The warlock rereads the whole thing again, ensuring that no terms require him to reveal his past or answer any questions he doesn't want to. Thankfully, as long as he doesn't withhold information that purposely endangers the citizens of Camelot, he's not required to reveal anything else.
"Ready, then?" the Court Sorcerer asks them after several minutes.
At this point, Merlin observes, from the corner of his eye, that more than a handful of mentors and apprentices have gathered in their little corners. He spies Theo and Clar discussing with Lady Jayden, making a rather interesting pair of apprentices. The boy called Fi is talking with Lord Mavin while Cava and Elise seem to be arguing rather vehemently with Lord Dalion. Merlin notes with surprise, however, that about ten of those in court stand apart from the crowd with no apprentice in sight. With only five mentors left and more than twenty possible apprentices still, the warlock understands why half of the remaining applicants look to be on the verge of tears.
I guess Balinor is not the only one with high standards, Merlin thinks to himself.
"Ready, my lord," Mordred replies, dragging Merlin back to his own little circle.
Morgana and Merlin follow up with their own assent. The Court Sorcerer flicks a hand. The parchments on their hands are abruptly taken away from their grasp. The papers are crisply straightened and accordingly laid out on thin air in front of each of them.
"Sign each page anywhere." Balinor hands them a feathered quill each.
Merlin watches Morgana write on the parchment without dipping the quill in ink. Hesitantly, Merlin presses the nib of his own quill to his own copy, and signs a loopy 'Merlin' on the side; the ink flows freely and doesn't even blot unnaturally while the paper remains stiff and steady even if all it has as support is air.
Magic truly is amazingly convenient. Merlin needs to learn these types of spells and bring them back to his own Camelot. It would really help when (re)writing Arthur's speeches.
After the three of them have signed all three pages, Balinor draws the documents to himself. He taps each leaf with an index finger, and identical symbols appear on each page with each gesture. It's less of a letter, more of a blocky rune. Before Merlin could take a closer look, the Court Sorcerer rolls up the documents and lowly encants over them. "Undeóp Dness eac Morgana Le Fay, Undeóp Dness eac Mordred sylfum Fyrhþ Engred, Undeóp Dness eac Merlin sylfum Ealdor."
Morgana sighs, shoulders losing their tension and eyes swirling a gentle gold. Mordred breathes out reverently, irises of the same shade.
Merlin suppresses a gasp and the instinctive urge to defend as the spell courses through his blood. Unlike previous enchantments cast upon him, the particular spell is mellow and benign, skittering through his veins almost unnoticeably.
In short moments, the enchantment finishes. Merlin feels something flexing at the back of his mind, like a muscle he never knew he could use. He rubs the back of his head at the sensation. As soon as he stops paying the littlest of attention to it, however, it settles and melds, almost disappearing but not quite.
"The contract has been signed and bound," the Court Sorcerer informs them. With a tone more fitted to announcing deaths in the family, he declares, "Well done. You are now apprentices under Camelot's court."
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A/N:
"If I become human, I'll never be with my father or sisters again. /
That's right. But you'll have your man. Life's full of tough choices, innit?" – Ariel / Ursula, The Little Mermaid (1989)
Thank you all for your encouraging comments and constructive criticisms! Never apologize for word vomits, dearies, it's the best kind! And thank you very much, huchamabacha, for the kofi ^_^. Hopefully, this whole chapter does not disappoint. Surprisingly, the choosing ceremony's the easiest part to write here.
Just one more chapter to go for Arc 1, yay! Do you guys realize that this 100K-word behemoth happens in only a few days, and 90% of it happens all in one day? God, talk about slow-pacing. Hopefully, I will finally be able to put Merlin to sleep in the next chapter.
Constructive criticisms are very much welcome! Kindly point out any glaring errors!
If you enjoy my content, please consider buying me coffee (link in my profile) ;)
I hope you all are well and safe in these trying times. Mage Gaius tells you to drink your vitamins!
~ Vividpast